


an accident of luck

by cyanoscarlet



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crash-Into Hello, F/M, Romeo and Juliet References, The Successor Challenge 2020, Theme: Spark, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:20:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25785781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanoscarlet/pseuds/cyanoscarlet
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a princess asleep in a tower in outer space, waiting for her prince to come rescue her and wake her with true love’s kiss.This isn’t that story.Or, Squall meets someone interesting one day at work.(Entry forThe Successor Challenge2020.)Update 12/25/2020: Now has acompanion fic!
Relationships: Rinoa Heartilly/Squall Leonhart
Kudos: 17





	an accident of luck

**Author's Note:**

> A submission for this year's edition of [The Successor Challenge](https://thesuccessorchallenge.tumblr.com). The theme I chose for this fic is "Spark", originally from 2019. :)

Once upon a time, there was a princess asleep in a tower in outer space, waiting for her prince to come rescue her and wake her with true love’s kiss.

This isn’t that story.

Squall regards the latest entry in the literary section with much distaste. It is one thing to be subjected to such saccharine drivel once every week; it is another thing to have to beta-read such saccharine drivel before its publication, then still have to be subjected to it anyway over morning coffee that same week.

He really should have accepted the scholarship Garden had offered to him back then— he would have been an elite rank SeeD by now, going on missions around the world, maybe actually even saving said “princesses asleep in outer space towers,” if he were luckier.

Scratch that; it is Zell who cares more about these things; he has always been the more romantic between the two of them, by far. Squall would describe himself more as pragmatic, if anything, as long as it puts food on the table and pays the bills. He didn’t summarily reject life as a rich bachelor for nothing, after all— he wanted to prove himself, and his father was only too happy to let him when he had asked. “Expand your horizontals, my dear son,” were Laguna’s exact parting words to him the day he moved out and never looked back.

For the dear life of him, Squall could never fathom how on earth his father had managed to become CEO of Galbadia’s largest multimedia outlet with questionable command of language and grammar, but he set that aside in favor of a wordless, tacit understanding and gratitude that he is, at least, a proper parent in most other aspects, all things considered. Life as a single parent is hard, and Squall did his part to help make life easier for the three of them. Once Ellone got married, however, those nagging thoughts of gaining some measure of independence for himself reared its ugly head, and he finally decided to act on them.

 _And look how_ that _has gone now,_ he bites back a grumble as he finishes his breakfast and returns the magazine to the top of the pile. Next week’s issue is due today, and he wishes he had added that double shot of espresso to his tray when it had been offered to him.

In his utter confusion on his way out, Squall does not notice where he is going and literally crashes into someone else, spilling their hot coffee all over the front of his shirt. _Double espresso_ , he immediately recognizes the taste as he licks what had splashed onto his lips— not at all how he wanted to get his caffeine on a stressful morning, really.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” comes the hurried apology, as the lady brings out a handkerchief and some wet wipes in an attempt to at least blot out the coffee stains. It makes Squall pale in mild embarrassment, both for the ruckus they have caused and for having caused said ruckus in the first place— a “double yikes,” as Laguna would have called it.

“I-It’s fine,” he momentarily stumbles on his words, because for some reason, the space between him and the lady has all but disappeared, and the distance between their foreheads as she looks up into his eyes has his heart skip several beats and his breath hitch for longer than he is comfortable with. A light, floral scent permeates from her clothes, which, along with the strong scent of roasted coffee, unexpectedly assaults his nose all at once, and he suddenly sneezes with all the force of an enraged Marlboro charging in for the kill.

Luckily, Squall had the presence of mind to turn his head aside before that happened; years of having allergic rhinitis had trained him well for these moments. The mild embarrassment he had at the beginning increases by tenfold, and he is sure that the pallor on his face has already morphed into a deep flush by now. The lady quickly clambers off him, looking aside, too, just as awkwardly, clutching her stained handkerchief close to her chest. A few people have already started to gather in the hallway, albeit maintaining a respectful distance from them both.

“Sorry,” he mumbles weakly as he takes the lady by her wrist and quickly leads her away from the onlookers, potential gossip be damned. _Not_ how he wanted his morning to go at all, but he’ll deal with the consequences later. For now, a trip to the washroom is in order— separately, of course.

  
  


-

  
  


“I know that was only an accident and all, Leonhart, but this will be hard to explain to HR when they come breathing down our necks in the next audit,” Quistis admonishes him, rubbing her temples in a circular motion; she tends to get migraines when she is stressed— and for her, that would be _all_ the time. She never addresses him by his surname, still, despite that. For her to do so now means either she is thoroughly done with the incessant calls inquiring about the incident, or he has messed up big time— and for Squall, both mean the same thing.

“They probably won’t, Quis,” the lady reassures with a teasing but flippant tone; she hasn’t stopped sniffing at her coffee-stained clothes in the laundry bag, of which Squall is holding an identical one right now. They have been given a couple hours leave on the clock to deposit the items at the laundromat across the street, just to get things over with. Benevolent bosses are always a blessing in every single job and field of work.

Quistis sighs at the probably-unwanted nickname. “Look, Ri- _Juliet_ , you’ve barely started working here. You have no idea how fast HR updates itself on the rumor mills, especially in the News Department and in ours,” she explains, giving Juliet a pointed _look_ as she does. Squall could only fathom the depth of the undue stress the morning’s incident has brought Quistis now, and she doesn’t deign to hide it behind her shiny spectacles, either.

Juliet only shrugs her shoulders in response as she rises from the couch. “Nah, they won’t,” she repeats herself, this time with more confidence, as if she already knows all of this like the back of her hand. “It’s an accident, like you said; they’ll probably send a written inquiry, at most, and the Good Sir Leonhart and I need only submit our written responses in, like, twenty-four hours. An easy thing for writers, really. Right, Good Sir Leonhart?” She nudges his side with an elbow, as if prompting for moral support.

Too close, again, Squall thinks, resisting the temptation to facepalm, like he is wont to do in ridiculously awkward situations like this. A “Whatever” does slip out, though, before he could stop himself. It makes Juliet groan indignantly in response, and she strongly pinches the outer edge of his arm, eliciting a surprised yelp from him as he yanks his hand away and takes a couple of steps back. “What the hell?”

Juliet merely sticks her tongue out at him, pulling at her lower eyelid with a thin finger as she does, like an overgrown child bullying at the playground. “That’s what you get for being a big, fat _meanie_ , Good Sir Leonhart,” she crows triumphantly, and Quistis only buries her head in her hands at her desk in sheer frustration. This incident is what HR should send a written inquiry for, Squall thinks to himself wryly as Juliet stalks off with her laundry bag, but not before turning back at the door and sticking her tongue out at him again, this time with a blowing sound. He does a facepalm for real this time, tiredly taking Juliet’s place on the couch before Quistis’ desk.

“Quite a handful, isn’t she,” she observes with a smile, making Squall raise an eyebrow in inquiry. Decidedly in a slightly better mood than earlier, Quistis nods at him, beckoning him to come closer. She slides a thin folder to him across the desk— probably the next article to look over for the day. Next week’s issue is due today, after all.

What greets him instead is a CV and portfolio of one _Juliette Heartilly_ , new writer for the Creative Department of their small publishing company, and apparently, his new _partner_.

“I meant to send for you this morning, but the CEO suddenly called all the department heads for an emergency meeting earlier,” Quistis explains in that same level tone of hers— that is, when she is about to deliver bad news, which for Squall, is most of the time lately. “You will be editing for Juliette, too, starting the issue after next week. As you can see, she has her quirks, but I imagine you won’t have a problem working together, seeing as you both have excellent work ethic and the output to show for it. Do you have any questions so far?”

“I don’t even know where to begin.” To hell with brain-to-mouth filters for today; he hasn’t had his morning coffee, and is therefore not awake enough to play nice yet. Luckily, Quistis understands that part of him very well, over the ten months now he has been working with her. She cradles her chin in both her laced fingers and smiles, as if prompting him to speak now or forever hold his peace. It is a smile that has unnerved many of the Department’s employees when they are at the receiving end of it, and as ashamed Squall is to admit it, he, too, finds it uncomfortable.

“I’ll send an email to you when I think of one,” he decides on saying instead. He needs a few hours to himself to process this weird turn of events first before he ends up doing anything stupid again, like spilling someone else’s coffee all over his shirt— something that, speaking of which, he has to replace sooner than later. He makes a mental note to pass by the fancy café two blocks over after depositing his clothes at the laundromat.

Mind made up for now, Squall nods at Quistis for additional measure, taking the folder with him. Her smile changes to one of warm approval, and she courteously dismisses him with a wave and an encouraging “good luck, Squall”. She does not say “with her”, but Squall hears it anyway as he takes his leave from the office, feeling his steps grow heavier yet lighter by the second. It was definitely a nonsensical way of putting it, but it is how he feels at the moment, and he won’t deny it for now.

He hopes nothing else will happen anymore; he’s had more than enough excitement for one day, and he still has next week’s issue to look at later this morning. Maybe he’ll get himself that double espresso on his café run, too, while he’s at it.

  
  


-

  
  


It turns out Squall needn’t have bothered with deciding what pastry goes well with brewed coffee on a chilly morning. He watches quietly from his place in the line, two customers back, as Juliette points excitedly at a pistachio muffin and another item he couldn’t identify except for the generous cheese on top. It feels as if fate is playing a ridiculous trick on him for some reason, having them both run into each other for the third consecutive time that day, now, and at very close intervals, too. It hasn’t even been half the day yet, and he is already decidedly exhausted.

“That will be one hundred gil, ma’am,” the cashier rings up the total amount, and Juliette happily slides over a silver-plated card on the counter. Squall lets his mind drift off again as he waits for the transaction to be finished, secretly relieved that he need only buy the coffee now. There are only so many things he knows about fancy food, despite having been raised in a relatively fancier household than most others. Their family did appreciate simple music and art, though, spending time every week in their small studio as Mom played (and bungled) piano pieces by their collective favorite singer, Julia.

Now, where has he heard that name before, Squall wonders for a moment.

His thoughts are promptly cut off by a small incident at the counter area. “W-What do you mean my card’s been declined?” Juliette stammers, her entire face pale as she picks back up the card, hand trembling ever-so-slightly. “I haven’t even reached half of my credit limit for this month yet,” she defends herself, her last few words ending with a raised intonation, as if she were asking a question instead. The cashier looks at her with genuine sympathy, but says what she has to, anyway: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’ve already tried swiping your card twice on both portable terminals; your card really has been blocked for some reason. Would you like to pay for your order in cash instead?”

“A-Ah, right.” Juliette fumbles at her wallet, nervously counting the remaining bills and coins one by one on the counter top. The small ruckus has the people behind Squall tapping impatiently, with one grandma even mumbling something about “stupid, spendthrift young’uns spending beyond their means” in a decidedly snide tone Squall didn’t care for at all, both because of its ill timing and its utter insensitivity. Juliette may have struck him as weirdly eccentric in more ways than one, but she is definitely not stupid, and certainly does not deserve such comments thrown at her.

So he decides to take matters into his own hands, swiftly cutting to the front of the line and sliding his own card onto the counter before Juliette could finish counting her money. A cursory glance at the small pile reveals that she is still around twenty gil short, despite how bulky her wallet had seemed to be at the start. The cashier, wearing a face that is between startled and starstruck, lets her eyes frantically wander around as she fumbles around for the right words, but Squall gives her a pointed _look_ before she could even so much as open her mouth. “I’ll pay. Add two double espressos to-go, as well. Make it quick.”

The manager, having heard the small ruckus from the inside office, quickly steps in for his terrified employee, and wordlessly rings up the orders in an instant. “Go prepare their food,” he calmly instructs, and this brings her back down from her jumpy episode. She then proceeds to the back and helps wrap up the pastries while the barista there prepared the coffee. The transaction goes smoothly this time, and Squall quietly takes Juliette with him to the waiting area, just like that.

“... You didn’t have to do that, Good Sir Leonhart,” Juliette says in a small voice, twiddling her thumbs in a restless manner. Her hunched form and bowed head lets her hide her eyes behind her loose hair, and for once, she is very different from the playful and confident woman that she was back in Quistis’ office. “A woman’s heart is a deep ocean of secrets,” Laguna had quoted an old movie to him a few years back, in one of the rare moments he has gotten his metaphors right, for once. It makes Squall smile a little, to this day— a good thing Juliette doesn’t see it, lest she starts teasing him again sooner than later.

It’s funny how, in a mere couple of hours, he has already managed to witness different facets that made up Juliette Heartilly— kind, assertive, coy, sensitive. Suddenly, the thought of working with her becomes a lot more bearable, now— interesting, even. He smirks at the feeling, just a little, this time lightly nudging Juliette with his elbow. “It’s for the coffee I spilled earlier,” he explains without looking, noting how she shyly raises her head at him from the corner of his eye. “Also, welcome to the team, Heartilly.”

He is definitely _not_ blushing as he said that. The cold air merely prickles at his face during this time of the year, and he need only take antihistamines for it tonight— another mental note, he reminds himself as he tries not to sneeze like that again.

Juliette seems to sense his bashfulness, though, returning to her usual annoying self as she returns the light elbow nudge with playful jabs of her own. “Awww! And the Good Sir Leonhart’s idea of a warm welcome is to take their newbies on coffee dates? I like that.” Her smile is decidedly a wicked one, and it takes all of Squall’s concentrated effort to not facepalm and/or snark back— whichever comes first— like he is wont to do when he is irritated.

He settles for a professional smile instead, like a team leader imparting wisdom to errant members so they don’t get funny ideas. “I don’t, actually, but today is an exception. I expect you to work hard. Do you understand, Heartilly?”

Just then, the barista rings the bell, calling for “customers Romeo and Juliet” with a nervous stutter. This elicits a wave of quiet laughter from among the dine-in patrons, and Squall, realizing that the hapless worker was referring to _them_ , instantly freezes in place, while Juliette leaps off the high stool and approaches the counter with a light spring in her step. “Coming!”

Squall doesn’t remember how long he remained that way, but the next thing he knows, Juliette is already tugging at the sleeve of his long shirt, carrying their food in a paper bag. “All done! Let’s go back now?”

“R-Right,” he nods in agreement, taking the carrier for the drinks from Juliette’s other hand and heading for the door. Juliette follows him excitedly, good mood fully restored for now. The walk back to the office is quiet amidst the bustle of activity around them, and the festive mood makes Juliette softly hum a tune— one of Julia’s songs, he recognizes.

“By the way, Good Sir Leonhart,” Juliette stops as they reach their office building, “I never got to learn your name.” The sudden question also stops Squall in his tracks, and he looks back at her from the door, studying the quizzical look on her face. She raises an eyebrow at him, prompting an answer. “I can’t keep on calling you Romeo forever, you know.”

“Indeed,” Squall agrees, lest the joint nickname sticks with everyone else and they become the newest comedy duo HR will come breathing down their necks on in next month’s audit. Also a fair enough question, given their new working relationship, really. The initial embarrassment is always only temporary, after all. “My name is Squall. Don’t get any funny ideas, Heartilly.”

“Oooh, a storm. I like that,” she quickly dodges that trap, joining him on the top of the steps and ringing the doorbell for them both. “Also, call me Juliette. Or Juliet. Whatever.” She punctuates this with a coy smile of her own, and Squall almost snorts at how fast it took for her to imitate his favorite expression, down to the bored intonation. She is definitely playing with him now, and he feels that he will fall into this trap sooner than later— but not right now.

“Juliette, then,” he ends the topic with a tone of finality, allowing no more room for further discussion. The door opens for them, and they nod at the receptionist in thanks as they head inside. “Next week’s issue is due today,” Squall instructs as they head up the spiral stairs. “We typically stay past five, but we try to wrap up before it gets too dark. Will that be okay with you?”

“Not a problem,” Juliette says with an excited squeak in her voice, the old steps creaking as she quickly runs up ahead of him. “Come on, Squall! Race you to the office?” She does not give him a chance to reply as she darts off with the food, like an overgrown child cheating at the playground. He only shakes his head as he ascends the steps only a little faster. “I’m carrying drinks, you know.” Not that Juliette would even hear it, given how far ahead she has already gotten, but it just has to be said.

Once upon a time, there was supposed to be a princess asleep in a tower in outer space, but by the time the prince arrived to rescue her and give her true love’s kiss, she was long gone, having escaped on her own and returned back to earth, just like that.

Squall only smiles in amusement at that. Maybe this is the unlikely spark he has been looking for in this life he has chosen for himself, and it’s not a bad thing— not bad, at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay!
> 
> It's been around 7-8 years since I last wrote for Squinoa, and I'm so glad to have returned to my college / [Where I Belong](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Where_I_Belong) roots for this one. I'd really wanted to write a full-blown story for this, including why on earth Rinoa changed her name, but IRL circumstances are very unpredictable right now (I'm a doctor), so I might not have enough time and energy to write it in full. Maybe I'll revisit this 'verse again someday, even if it's not going to be part of the challenge anymore.
> 
> For now, I hope you all enjoyed this story, and may you have good vibes all the way. Much love!
> 
> .
> 
> [writing blog](http://fifteenleads.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/cyanoscarlet)


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